Fallen
by Anne Nonymus
Summary: She felt it. She knew the exact moment he breathed his last breath, because she felt it... AU Enchanted Forest. Emma faces a devastating loss, but can hope arrive in the form of a strange man who isn't quite who the legends prepared her for? Rated M for Emma's colourful rant.


**A/N: Musie is being rather morbid right now. This is a two shot that's been haunting me lately. This is an AU that takes place in the Enchanted Forest. I will hopefully get back to my WIP soon for those who want to know. M rated for language. Mainly Emma's F Bomb filled rant.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, no I don't own Once Upon a Time or any of its characters. I often fantasize that I do though, and the results include these fanfics. It's actually owned by the dastardly duo of Kitsis and Horowitz, and the ABC network.**

**Numb**

She felt it.

She knew the exact moment he breathed his last breath, because at that moment she felt an inexplicable, horrible, painful, shattering ache in her chest, like she had just had a wrecking ball slam into it. She crumpled to the ground, and no matter how many rasping, agonizing gasps she took, it felt as though her lungs were refusing to function. As if she forgot how to take in air. As if a part of her believed that if he wasn't going to draw breath anymore, why should she. She couldn't think, she couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, couldn't explain how or why she knew he was gone, she just knew. And with that knowledge, her vision darkened, shade by shade until she could see nothing, and Emma actually passed out, her frantic parents rushing her to the healing tents where the fairies and healing women couldn't tell Snow and David why their daughter suddenly lost consciousness. And it seemed like a huge cosmic joke that she woke up, just as Robin arrived, his eyes rimed red, his voice thick and cracking with emotion, to deliver the devastating news.

Captain Killian Jones, one of the kingdom's best warriors, had fallen in battle. That the wicked bitch of the west had bested him with a curse. White noise filled her ears as Robin went into the details of the fight. What did it matter now? He was gone, that was the bottom line. The best that they could do was bring him back to the castle before his burial at sea. So that everyone could say their goodbyes. And even though Robin said everyone, he pointedly looked at Emma.

Snow cried upon hearing the news that the once villain turned dear friend had given his life defending their kingdom. Her father had seemed to take it especially hard; he and the pirate had become best mates and David learned to trust Killian implicitly. Surprisingly, Regina was also affected by Killian's loss; the two of them became allies and then friends, bonded by the fact that they considered themselves former villains who were attempting to atone for their transgressions. Even Neal teared up, remembering the man who once fished him out of the Neverland waters, and taught him to sword fight and sail. The whole kingdom was in morning for their fallen hero, and tales of his bravery were on everyone's lips. There wasn't a dry eye in the Enchanted Forest, with one notable exception.

Emma didn't cry when she heard what happened to Killian. She wasn't overcome by the loss. She just felt empty, numb, and a morbid sense of fulfilled expectation. Of course he would die. He was brave and reckless, and she was stupid enough to care for him. That should have been enough of a clue that something bad would happen to him. She was the saviour, the product of true love; she protects the happy endings of others, she doesn't get one herself.

While everyone around her wept and sobbed, she rose up from the cot she was laying on, strolled past the entry to the healing tent, and headed for the kitchens, wondering where they kept the good booze. She managed to find some whiskey - not rum - that someone had hidden in the supply room, and found herself a secluded little nook where she could drink in peace.

Emma lost track of time in her little hideaway, the whiskey deepening the feeling of emptiness inside of her. She wasn't plagued by guilt, or doubt, or sadness, nor did her thoughts overwhelm her. She felt and thought of nothing, and there was a strange sort of tranquility in it. Emma knew it wouldn't last, she knew that part of the numbness was because of a sense of disbelief. Killian was over 300 years old dammit. He had the swagger, the skills, and enough survivor's instinct that it wouldn't be far fetched to believe that he was as close to indestructible as you can get without being the dark one. He promised her he would always come back for her. And just when she was starting to believe him, the bastard had to go and die on her.

"So, that's where the good stuff went." she heard someone chuckle from the doorway.

"Sorry _dad_, you're gonna have to do a better job hiding the hooch if you want to keep it to yourself." replied Emma, holding the bottle out for him as she continued to stare at the stone wall in front of her.

"Noted." he sighed, taking a long pull from the bottle and taking a seat on the floor next to Emma.

"I'm so sorry Emma," his voice breaking, a tear falling from his eyes.

"Don't….just…don't David." she growled. She didn't want to hear any apologies, didn't want to be treated like she was fragile, that she was inches away from shattering even though she knew she was. She saw the look on Robin's face as he broke the news of Killian's death as gently as he could. She saw the looks on her parents faces, even Regina's as they watched for her reaction. They looked upon her like she was now a widow, even though she wasn't. She and Killian weren't even in a relationship. There was never a time for them to talk about it, and now there will never be.

She stumbled to her feet, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and abandoning her mini refuge. She could tell that David wanted to have one of his heart to heart talks, but at that moment, she really couldn't take it. She wanted to live in the numbness for a little while longer, live with the denial a little while longer before she finally had to accept-

She suddenly heard voices down the hall, and it was obvious that Ruby and Mary Margaret were concerned about her and looking for her. She cursed, knowing that there was no way that she could handle a Barbara Walters style interrogation about her feelings at the moment. Not that she had any. She was still numb and she was glad for it.

"Fuck why the hell can't people leave me the hell alone?" she gritted, testing a nearby door to see if it was locked so that she could hide out a little while longer.

Turns out that it was a huge mistake.

Emma had accidentally stumbled into the castle chapel, where the fallen hero was placed on a fur covered bier. Funny thing is that she knew he was there, or that his body was there before she saw it. For the briefest of moments she had felt his presence, that indescribable force of his nature that she felt wrap itself around her every time he was near. He _felt _alive, and if it weren't for the stillness of his chest, and stinging silence where there should be a deep, throaty, accented voice suggesting all manner of naughty things they could do alone together on a bed of furs, in a locked chapel. She almost felt herself roll her eyes when she remembered that he didn't speak, he couldn't have spoken because he was dead, and he would never issue another suggestive suggestion with his sultry voice. She begged for whatever deity could be listening for her to be wrong. Please God let her be wrong, let her witness some small movement, let him be hurt, but let him not be dead. With her pleas and prayers, she felt the numbness within her crack and fracture, but she held on as she was answered with nothing but empty silence.

Without so much as consulting her, her feet brought her closer to the bier, closer to him. It was almost unfair how absolutely beautiful he still was. His skin had paled, but didn't develop the ghostly pallor that she had witnessed from other corpses. There was no visible wounds, his face wasn't contorted in some grotesque mask of horror that gave evidence of what he endured in his last moments. He actually looked somewhat….peaceful. Someone had dressed him in the clothing of a nobleman; a blue velvet jacket with silver trim and accents, a bright white ruffled shirt buttoned all the way to the neck, and dark navy trousers.

He would have hated it, she thought absentmindedly as she found herself brushing a stray hair off his forehead. He should be in his leathers, that's what he would have wanted, but then again, what does it matter what he's dressed in when they toss him into the sea for his sailor's funeral?

She took another swig from her bottle of whiskey, and felt a strange irrational itch of anger starting to scratch and pick at numbness she was so desperately clinging to, as she remembered bits and pieces of what Robin had told her and her parents about his death. Words like "hero" and "valiant" and "brave" were used to describe him. Apparently, the wizard that Hook and his crew were tasked to retrieve was under attack by the wicked bitch of the west, and he threw himself in front of the wizard. Merlin (and yeah, she's still having trouble wrapping her head around that one) was brought back unconscious from the attack. Hook wasn't as lucky. What the hell was he thinking sacrificing his life for a stranger?

That little itch of anger quickly began to flare as she took another gulp of the whiskey, and then another until there was none left. Her eyes started to water until she could barely see from the tears that welled up, and her lungs burned from the sobs she held inside her, clutching them within, refusing to let them out. She heaved the bottle at a nearby wall and the tinkling shatter it made satisfied her for a second before the anger flared up again. God she wanted to hit him so hard that his head spun back and he would end up rubbing his chin gingerly, telling her that she hits pretty good for a girl. Which of course would make her hit him again. And the next hit he would block with a well placed hand and he would end up maneuvering her so that she ended up in his arms. Then he would look at her with that odd, endearing mix of amusement and awe, gently brushing the hair from her shoulder with his hook and give her one of his rare genuine smiles. And she would feel the corners of her mouth curl up in response, the tension in her muscles melting as she relaxed against him. He'd make some off colour joke that she wouldn't be able to stop herself from laughing at. Then she'd feel rather than hear the rumble of his laughter against her chest and whatever she was angry at him for would seem so petty and trivial. She'd act like the last thing she wanted was to be trapped in his arms, but truthfully, she was starting to get used to the feeling of safety and warmth his embrace provided. And now she was never going to have that again because of his recklessness. Because he had to play the hero instead of coming back to her.

"You son of a bitch…." she rasped, the angry words dragging through her throat, slowly rising fuelled by her rage, and the loss she didn't dare allow herself to feel. The numbness within her shattered and out poured a molten river of rage.

"You stupid fucking son of a bitch!" she hissed, angry tears leaking from her eyes falling hot and hard down her cheeks.

"I hate you! I hate you so fucking much!" she screamed, her hands clenching into fists and pounding on his still chest. "You arrogant, selfish, bastard! Why the hell couldn't you just leave me alone! Always with the stupid innuendo and those idiotic grins, like I'm supposed to just fall for that crap like all of those tavern whores you're used to? You're a fucking villain asshole! You murdered people in cold blood, stole everything that wasn't fucking tied down, screwed every pussy in every realm you found yourself in, and fucked over anyone that got in your way without a shred of mercy didn't you. There was a reason why everyone feared and hated you isn't there. _Isn't there_?!"

"And then you had to suddenly grow a noble streak," she sobbed. "You just had to up and become a good guy, helping me save Henry, coming after me when I was forced to leave and ended up with magic induced amnesia. You said that not a day would go by you wouldn't think of me, you promised me that you'd win my heart! If this selfless act is the strategy you're going with, sorry to be the one to tell you this buddy but it was an epic fail. What the fuck was the point in winning my heart if you're not even going to be there for the victory? I didn't need you to be a hero for me..."

Her anger spent, she was left with a searing ache that blazed through her, leaving nothing but ashes and rubble in its wake. Emma felt as though she was torn apart and haphazardly stuck back together with pieces of her missing. She crumpled to the ground beside him, her whole body shaking as she whispered "I just needed for you to be the one who wouldn't leave me dammit..."

She rose up on her knees, crossed her arms on the bier, and rested her chin on her folded hands. With her eyes she traced the lines of his aquiline nose, to his supple lips, down to his strong chin and along his sharp jaw. There was an intimacy in the moment that felt like a lover watching her beloved sleep. Emma slipped one of her hands from under her chin and brushed the back of her fingers against his cold cheek. This small contact sparked a need in her that for so long she buried, but now, she was too tired to fight it. She climbed upon the bier beside him, threw an arm over his chest and buried her face in the crook of his neck and wept as she breathed him in. She hated that the first time that they're this close together on a bed, he's not even alive for it. Suddenly, Emma feels wave after pounding wave of regret and guilt, for all those times she's pushed him away, for all those times she's taken him and his loyalty for granted, for all those times she used the latest crisis as an excuse to put off telling him how she felt about him.

"You know what I hate most about you?" Emma rasped, her voice hoarse and achy. "I hate that I don't hate you, at all. I hate that you were right, that you won my heart and I was too much of a chicken shit to tell you. I hate that I just kept making excuses about how it was never the time, that I kept hiding behind crisis after crisis instead of taking a goddamn moment with you. I hate that it hurts _so much_ for you not to know that I really do lo-"

Her private moment with Killian was interrupted when the doors to the chapel burst open. In an unusually graceful and badass move, Emma jumped off the bier as she unsheathed her sword and aimed the tip of the blade at the intruder feeling a strange need to protect Killian, even though he was beyond her protection now.

She half expected it to be the witchy green bitch, back for another round with Emma, and instead was surprised to find an elderly man, who wore a large bandage across his balding head, his long white beard splayed across his chest, his grey eyes alight with excitement.

"Captain! Captain! My deepest apologizes for my delayed arrival, I came as soon as I could!" he yelled to Killian's still and prone body before he noticed Emma and the sword pointed at him.

"Oh! Oh my…whoops!" The strange man giggled, actually _giggled _before throwing his hands over his mouth. "Forgive the rudeness of my interruption your grace, had I known the punishment for such a crime would be impalement I would have knocked. Wait, were you on the bier with the Captain?"

"Who are you, and what the hell do you want?" grunted Emma, keeping her eyes and her sword on this strange man.

"I am Merlin of Camelot," the man grinned maniacally, as though he didn't have a sword aimed at his neck. "And you are Princess Emma. I've heard quite a lot about you. And the Captain is quite right, your beauty is incomparable."

He reached out to her to take her hand when he suddenly jumped backwards.

"Right, right you are," he mumbled, a blush dusting his papery thin cheeks before beaming a smile to Emma. "I'm here to save the Captain."

"You're a little late," Emma murmured, her sword arm trembling before she finally put the sword down. "He's…he's gone."

"No, he's right there." Merlin pointed to Hook on the bier in confusion.

"I mean, he's…he's dead." Emma corrected herself, finding it difficult to say the words.

"The Captain's not dead." scoffed Merlin, as if that fact was obvious. "He's just not quite alive."


End file.
